Cave in, p.5
Cave-In, page 5
“What are you doing here?” comes a recovered voice. “You actually followed me in, you jerk?”
“You’re welcome,” I say, my voice flat and muted. “Are you okay?”
He stares at me, shoulders quaking, lips pressed together like new and old Mica are fighting to decide on a response.
“Thanks.” And he disappears underwater just like that, pushing me against the sharp wall on his way back to the entry tunnel, kicking up froth as he heads back toward the pond’s shore.
I sigh, if only as preparation for loading myself up with more oxygen, and stare curiously in the other direction, wondering whether the next sump is swimmable, whether there’s another air pocket on its far side, whether the route continues to where the Castle and Dungeon meet in a top-secret chamber filled with exotic formations the shape of high priests or priestesses blessing the confluence of waters.
But my teeth are chattering, and my body is shuddering, so I lower my face back into the sump and follow Mica’s bubbly trail. What I don’t expect, when I flop onto the pond’s flat rocky “beach,” is a huddle of guys blocking the dry passageway beyond, roughing up Jett and shouting with an anger that echoes off black walls.
“Stop it!” I say, scrambling up and throwing myself into the melee. “Leave Jett alone!”
“You too?” Dirk growls. “Following Mica, trying to leapfrog ahead to steal our find again? What’d you do, mangle his ankle to slow him down? Try to drown him?”
I look to Mica, whose back is turned to me as he pulls his clothes onto his shaking frame, and I note blood seeping from his ankle through his trousers. He wavers ever so slightly, and Dirk catches him by the elbow and leads him toward the exit.
“If he’s hypothermic, you need to get him home ASAP,” I say as the others stare at me.
“We’ll do that, no thanks to you, asswipe,” Don says. “Can’t find your own passages, so you have to barge into ours? Follow us again and you’ll find there’s not enough space in these caverns for both of us to exit in one piece.”
The three are gone before I can shake my head. My heart feels heavy, like it’s weighed down by a rock. I can’t banish an image, a fantasy, of this all having gone differently: thankfulness, apologies, hugs, reconciliation.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Jett hands me my clothes as he tilts his head back to slow a fist-induced nosebleed. “And does the passage lead anywhere?”
“Leads to trouble,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Yup.”
I did what I had to do. It wasn’t about leapfrogging. But what Mica and his gang believe is as unyielding as these cavern walls. Maybe we’ll never find the crack required to reach one another.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll explain later.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Pizza tonight,” Mom reminds me with a broad smile when I get home from school.
“Yay.” I dump the contents of my school locker on the kitchen table. Lots of school stuff, because today was the last day of school. Hello, summer!
Tonight’s pizza outing is my parents’ reward for shining (ha!) at the community centre meeting. Well, the presentation didn’t blow up, and maybe it even shone some light into curious minds, so there you go.
Being the start of summer break, almost everyone I know is going to a party at Mica’s tonight, but Don cornered me point-blank after a morning class to declare, “You’re not invited, just so you know. Don’t go trying to crash it, Twig. Go hang with your dork friend instead.”
He meant Jett, which confirms my suspicion that Jett wasn’t invited either. Jett’s social life, if he ever had one, has suffered from being my sidekick, even though I think he figured Mica and I would have ended our standoff long ago and let him join us as a third hand. Then again, he kind of accepts what is; he’s one of those guys who floats through high school without seeming to see cliques, attract trouble, or care who he’s hanging with. Enviable in that way. Anyway, I’m increasingly glad I tapped him for replacement caving companion. He has fast-growing caving skills and good instincts, as well as a sense of humour and an even temper.
So, parental-time-with-pizza is where I’m at tonight. At least my parents are okay. Wouldn’t want Mica’s loud, pushy dad and socialite mom, for instance. Or Ana’s stern powerhouse of a father. But rumour has it she’s going to the party. Which means maybe I’ll sneak in later after all. Mica will be annoyed but not surprised and not likely to actually kick me out. I hope.
Mom’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Dad says it’s light enough out these evenings to fit in a short hike before we hit Tass Gas Pizza. Stretch our legs, work up an appetite, see how much water is spilling over Ribbon Falls. Okay with you?”
Tass Gas Pizza is a pretty hilarious name for a side window at the gas station teamed with a picnic table that doesn’t take reservations. As for Ribbon Falls, well, it’s one of the few cascades in the region without a cave carved out behind it, so it’s never my first pick. But then again, this isn’t about caving and there’s time before Mica’s party starts.
“Sounds good, Mom. When’s Dad home?”
“Here!” comes a booming voice from the doorway as he removes his hardhat and leans down to unlace his workboots. “Pizza for our budding scientist, I hear. And a meander up the mountain beforehand.” He claps me on the back because he gets that I’m too old for a hug. I head for my room to change my clothes.
Tromping up the forest trail a short while later, I smell the sweet scent of summer in the air and glimpse swallows dipping in and out of view. We come to an old arched footbridge over the creek, one Mom likes so much she has photographed it lots of times.
“This was made by a pioneer stonemason,” Mom tells us, as if she hasn’t said so a bunch of times before.
I roll my eyes, and she smiles.
“The trapezoid-shaped stone in the middle is called a keystone. It allows all the rocks to fit together and hold forever without cement or bolts,” she muses.
“Feel good to be done with school?” Dad asks as we carry on upstream.
“Of course. More caving time.”
A startled deer leaps away as we round a corner. Soon, the roar of nearby Ribbon Falls fills our ears.
“How’s work?” I ask. “When’s that TT inspector coming ’round?” I’ve been thinking about TT practices more since the community centre meeting.
Dad frowns. “Was supposed to come this week, but got delayed, they said. Today we got the go-ahead to back those machines out of the new parking lot so we don’t lose any more if the sinkhole crumbles at the edges. That starts tomorrow. About time, I say, but I’m just a joe, you know.”
“One of the smarter, more senior joes,” Mom assures him. “It’s top secret, but I can tell you we’re hiring ten new workers next month. And I cut a cheque today for travel expenses regarding an inspector travelling here next week, so that just proves TT really does care about safety and its employees.”
“Love having an in-house spy in the admin office. What’s his name?” Dad asks, pecking Mom on the cheek, then turning his head as the thundering falls come into view. “Wow, look at what recent rains have done to our little Ribbon.”
“It’s confidential,” Mom teases. “So, I can’t tell you what her name is.”
“A female inspector?” Dad looks genuinely surprised. “I know most of the Island’s inspectors and have never come across a woman. Not that I care—only about her credentials and objectivity.”
“Exactly, dear.” Mom pulls his faded, floppy hiking hat off his balding head and tosses it like a Frisbee toward the falls’ pool.
“Got it!”
We all turn in surprise to see a soaking-wet hiker with the hat in his hands, water streaming down his fully clothed body.
“Mr. Williams?” I say. “Did you just step through the falls?”
“Either that or I’m in the habit of hiking up here right after I take a shower in my clothes.” He winks and tosses the hat back to Dad. Then his eyes dart around, as if to confirm it’s just my parents and me. Or maybe he’s not so pleased to have run into us and caught the hat.
“How’s it going, Mal?” Dad asks.
“It’s going, Colm. Enjoying the longer evenings?”
“We are,” Mom says, but her eyes are on a huge backpack we hadn’t previously noticed to the side of the falls.
“Is that a training pack?” I ask. Sometimes serious hikers fill their packs with sand and water jugs and put in lots of distance to train for serious expeditions. Why else would anyone have a massive pack just ten minutes up-mountain from town?
Mr. Williams’s face goes an interesting shade of pink. “Um, yeah, just trying to whip the old body in shape, Hudson.”
He rests his hands on a jumbo-sized water bottle in a belt holder around his waist and wipes a free hand across his wet forehead. Then he steps out of the water and moves toward his pack. Or more like in front of it, as if to block our view, which makes me tilt my head to get a better look at it. One bulge in the ripstop nylon suggests there’s a box inside. Other, more rounded lumps indicate cylindrical-shaped things.
“How much does it weigh?” I ask casually, stepping around him and stooping to lift the pack.
He whirls around to stop me, but not before what looks like a black toolbox tumbles out. It’s not shut tightly, so the lid springs open and spills out a collection of small bottles, glass slides, medicine droppers, and stoppered test tubes. Deeper in the pack I spot a device that looks like a giant calculator a person could barely get a hand around.
I look up. “A chemistry set?”
“Smart kid,” he says with less than full enthusiasm. “A field kit that tests water chemistry for pH, chlorine, copper, phenols, detergent surfactants, and turbidity. Can never be too concerned about how clean our drinking water is, eh?”
That contradicts the training-pack reply. Not that I’m about to point it out.
“I think we’re lucky in this region,” Dad says. “Water reports are consistently good around here. All that limestone filters our groundwater before it hits the aquifer.”
“Exactly! We are fortunate, aren’t we? It’s just a little hobby of mine, making sure it’s all good,” my teacher says.
“Well, enjoy the evening, Mal,” Mom says. “We’re just stretching our legs before dinner.”
“Sorry for spilling your stuff,” I add. “Want me to help you put it all back in?” There’s a black foam lining in the box with special indentations for each bottle. At least nothing broke rolling onto the grass.
“I’m fine, thanks. You enjoy your walk too,” he says cheerfully. “See you next week for more science-fair prep.”
We’ve been meeting up regularly, and I’m pretty excited to be representing my district in the fall science fair. “I can’t wait for the fall—”
“Actually,” he says, “I should mention, I’m not teaching in the fall.”
The three of us pause and study him. He’s fiddling with his pack’s drawstring and doesn’t look up. He hesitates, then says, “They’re looking into a replacement science teacher.”
Given that Mr. Williams is one of those rare, good teachers, losing him would be bad. “For how long?” I ask.
He glances up and looks from my mom to my dad. “Maybe for good, maybe just a few months. Depends. I have a meeting with the school board next week.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. “For getting on TT’s case at the sinkhole meeting?” Dad asks, going suddenly still.
“Of course not,” comes the reply, served up with a smile. “It’s my decision.”
Dad tries to question Mr. Williams further, but my teacher just shakes his head. “Can’t say anything else at this stage, sorry.” The awkward silence is broken by the rat-a-tat-tat of a piliated woodpecker.
“Okay, see you,” we finally say, as Mom ushers us down the trail. Twigs snap underfoot, shadows fall, and the quiet of the forest envelops us. I go quiet while contemplating all kinds of questions and vague notions. Luckily, my growling stomach helps distract me.
When we finally get to the pizza that evening, it doesn’t taste as good as usual. We each pull a piece out of the box and start nibbling slowly.
“He says it’s his choice, but I wonder,” Dad begins.
Mom raises the pizza to her mouth. “It will be a great loss for the school, but let’s talk about something else.”
“Um, Mom, Dad, I forgot to mention I’m going to a party tonight, at Mica’s house.”
“How nice! Celebrating the end of the school year, of course! I knew you two would make things right one of these days. I presume his parents will be home?” Mom asks.
“For sure.” Actually, I have no idea about that.
“Okay, call if you want a ride home, no questions asked.”
Hmm. No questions—unless the call is ten minutes after I arrive there, or I’m waiting for them on the curb with a broken nose.
CHAPTER TEN
The ground vibrates with pounding music, and every light in the big white house is on as I approach.
A rush of memories greets me: years of hanging out here. Hide-and-seek, after-school snacks (under the watchful eye of Mica’s nanny), backyard pup-tent overnights (spooked by his big brother), and homework sessions (where Mica mostly managed to get me to do his for him). Also, gearing up for cave explorations (where I got to borrow Mica’s better equipment), and popping popcorn or playing Monopoly with his parents, brother, and him, like I was part of their family. Back when their family did family time together. Before his dad became mayor.
And later, contests as to who could hold their breath longer in the hot tub, who could displace the most water while diving from the board into the pool, and fervent late-night discussions about music, girls, and more. More recently, of course, female schoolmates in the hot tub with us, and Pepsis replaced by smuggled beer.
Kids are laughing, shouting, and dancing on the rear patio, which butts up against a rockface that Mica and I spent our childhoods learning to boulder on. A high dirt cliff above the stone slab is too steep to scramble up, as we know better than anyone. Tonight, someone has strung sparkly lights across the rockface, and there’s a tin tub of ice and beer pushed up against it. A gift from Mica’s older brother? Clearly their parents aren’t home. The mayor and his wife would definitely not turn a blind eye to underage drinking in their home.
I walk across the patio and help myself to a beer, pop the top, and enjoy a soothing swallow. It dawns on me that everyone who’s not in the pool or hot tub is in costume. And here’s me in my jeans. Guess I didn’t get the message on my party invite, mostly because I lacked a party invite.
“Hey, Hudson!” breathes an unsteady girl whose name I can’t remember. Perfect. At least one person here has spoken to me.
“Hey,” I reply. Small groups pass me, glance my way, take on a veiled look, and keep moving. It’s interesting to be invisible. I tell myself there are worse options. Then I note the worse option: some students pointing at me and whispering.
“Hi, Heather.” I approach a girl standing on her own, leaning against the back wall of the house in the shadows, vaping. She seems overdressed in a sparkling evening gown with high heels, but what do I know about fashion?
“Hudson,” she says uneasily, and scans the crowd until her eyes rest on Mica, who is hobbling about in a fake tux. “Mica is limping, you know.”
“Mmm. A little.”
“Did you really hurt him while you guys were caving, because you wanted to get ahead of him?”
“What? Of course not. Is that what everyone’s saying?”
She gives me a grim look and walks to one of the pockets of students staring at me with hostility, like she doesn’t want demerits for hanging with an accused subterranean assaulter.
Seriously? This is what I have to deal with tonight? And after I risked my life to save Mica?
I look around for anyone far enough distant from Mica’s golden gang constellation to risk indulging in conversation with a small planet fallen out of orbit. This banishment thing wouldn’t work in a larger school. But there aren’t many in our high school, which makes cliques and unspoken edicts ironclad.
A gaggle of bikinied girls leap into the pool with exuberant shouts. I raise my beer to them and get giggles in return. Oh wait, they’re giggling at Erin, who glides by in fortune-teller garb, something round clutched under one arm. She actually looks good in a rainbow-coloured, flouncy, layered skirt, off-the-shoulders peasant blouse, and wide buckled belt. A purple scarf tied around her head emphasizes the length and shiny darkness of her braids, and a dozen coin-style necklaces jangle at her bodice.
She doesn’t pause to talk to anyone, and no one engages her. She floats gracefully through the clutches of partyers like a contented phantom. Perhaps she’s here on reconnaissance, doing a social studies paper on the various methods teenagers employ to ignore someone in their midst deemed unworthy to talk to. I’ve just doubled her available study subjects on that.
“Hudson.” She pauses and smiles, which gives me an unexpected wave of relief. “What are you supposed to be?” She sets down a cheap crystal ball she’s carrying around.
“Just me. Didn’t know the dress code.”
“Because you, like me, were among the uninvited. But you’re here now, so let me tell you I enjoyed your science demonstrations last week. Both of them. It took balls, especially the second one in front of TT brass. Didn’t know you had any.”
“Um… thanks?”
“I’m not buying the line about you trying to drown Mica on the weekend, by the way. Although there were witnesses, I understand.” She taps the sparkly globe and gazes blandly up at me. Given that she’s only five-foot-and-a-bit, she may be the only classmate in Tass who makes me feel tall.
